Feeling the Same Way
by Damienne
Summary: NC-17, one-shot. Grissom and Sara's first time together - Sara's had enough of feeling the same way, and decides she's going to get answers from Grissom, once and for all. But what she gets is so much more than spoken answers.


**Rating:** NC-17

**Pairing: **GSR, 'cause they just rock together.

**Spoilers: **Warrick's alive, no one's left the lab, and Grissom and Sara haven't gotten together (yet). Other than that, no notable mention.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them, mostly because no crime would ever be solved if I did. I also don't own Norah Jones' "Feelin' the Same Way

**Author's Note: **Who's up for some smut? Me too! Grissom and Sara's angsty, angry, marvelous first time; think make-up sex, ten years in the making. Written from Sara's POV. Thanks to Anya whose amazing writing inspires me.

Review! (Please?)

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_So many times I wonder where I've gone, and how I found my way back in._

_I look around a while for something lost, maybe I'll find it in the end._

_And I'm feelin' the same way all over again._

_Feelin' the same way all over again._

_Singin' the same lines all over again,_

_No matter how much I pretend. _

I've just about given up on you, Grissom. Almost. Though I know I'll never really be able to. I've found you marvelously attractive and charming since first setting eyes on you at that damn convention years ago. And since then, I've been doing everything, from the subtle, to the completely obvious, to get you to want me back. Or more, to convince you that it's okay to want me back.

I know you find me attractive, I notice when you stare as I bend over to pick something I've dropped or enter a room for the first time. But maybe you're just being a man, I can't tell. I'm making a fool out of myself, I've been doing it for years, trying to get you to notice me, give into me, want me. I'll give up someday, I hope, but leave me this once. Just one last time.

You hold your head at an odd angle, leaning over the case files scattered across your desk. You'd be home more often if you would organize them, but that's not you. I don't know what I'm doing, my heart's pounding, and I know I'll lose my train of thought the minute I open my lips. Your door is already open, so at least I won't have to knock. I cross the threshold into your office, but you don't look up. You can't be bothered to notice I'm in your presence.

"Night, Grissom." My voice cracks a little, but I'm pretty sure I sound normal.

You glance up quickly, but you only make eye contact for a moment. In fact, it's not even eye contact, you just look at me, somewhere in the chest region. Are you noticing my breasts? What are you thinking about?

"Goodnight, Sara. Good work on your case today." Every time you say my name I want to collapse. I also want to kill you because you make me crazy, and you know it. But you'd say the same thing to Catherine or Nick or Warrick, you're playing it casual. Or are you not playing? I don't like this game of guesswork, I don't like not knowing, but I don't know how to go about communicating with you, so I let my unconscious mind take over control of my lips.

"Do you need any help?" I don't even know what you're doing, if I could possibly be of any help at all, but I ask, because I don't want to leave.

You pause. For a moment it seems like you're considering it. "You've worked a double shift, you should go home." You speak as you always do, you're not mean, you're just Grissom.

"Yeah, I'm actually not that tired." I don't get angry with you, but I want to.

You take off your reading glasses. You look at me. There's so much power in your stare, Grissom, do you know that? Know what you do to me when you look at me like that? I wish you did it on purpose, then I could justifiably hate you.

"You know, I was actually going to get some breakfast. Would you care to join me?" I hear my voice again, I don't have control of it anymore.

"No." At least you're direct, I've always admired that in you.

"Why not?" I pry.

"Sara…" You look as if you have something to say, but you can't say it. You won't say it, I know you that well at least.

"It's breakfast, Gris, not an engagement ring." You don't change your expression, you're still looking at me in that way that you don't look at anyone else, not Catherine or Sophia or, God forbid, Lady Heather. You're burning through my skin with that look.

"It's not…appropriate," You finally choke it out. And I'm kind of happy you said something, because now we can have a discussion, one of these Sara-and-Grissom discussions that make you hilariously uncomfortable. I sit down, because I know I'm going to be here a while. You're not going to tell me to leave, you wouldn't dare, and I'm not giving up this time and running away like a puppy hit over the head with a newspaper. I'm going to know the truth today.

"Appropriate?" I sound testy. I don't think I mean to. "So your concern about…us. It has to do with what's appropriate?" I manage to calm down my tone, you don't speak. "Is it because you're my boss, I'm your employee? Because of the _legal_ issues? Or maybe you're scared for your reputation?" You want to speak, I know, but you're afraid. "Would you just explain it to me, Gil? Just once?"

Your expression changed a little when I called you by your first name. People don't do that often, if ever. Is that because you don't like it? Or maybe you reserve it for certain people; the closest of friends? Family? Lovers in the throes of passion? I have a million questions for you, Gris, and I'm afraid I'll never have answers.

You stand up, I worry you'll kick me out. But you don't, you grab my hand. Your hands are rough, warm and rough. And calloused. You force me up, but you're still somehow gentle, and we walk, somehow comfortably, into the parking lot. You don't say a thing, and neither do I. It's your turn.

"You don't get it." Is that all you have to say? You sound like an emotional sixteen-year-old talking to his mother about his repressed life. I want to say this to you, but I won't.

"Why do you think I asked you to explain it to me?" I'll keep prodding; I'm getting my answers today.

"How much time do you have?" You're joking, but I don't laugh. I have all day, you know this, and so do you. You're off the clock.

"Look, Gris, you can explain it to me or not, but stop beating around the bush." I'm impatient now. You look away, your eyes fix on something in the distance, and I wait because I know if I do, you'll speak.

"It's not…I don't…" I'm right, you do speak, but you can't figure out what to say, so you take a deep breath, and you spit it out quickly. "I've always found you attractive, Sara, and not just physically. But you're…different."

I've never heard someone use that word, "different", in such a way before. I wonder what you mean, so I ask.

"You work with me, Sara, you're my employee. I am your boss. So we date, we have dinner, and then what, Sara? What if this, everything we've been working up to, turns out to be nothing at all?"

Your words hurt me. Do you honestly think something like what I feel for you, what I've convinced myself you feel for me, could just _end_ after a date? A fucking? What do you want from me, and how am I supposed to explain that you're wrong. _Why _you're wrong. "How could it possibly be nothing at all, Grissom? How could all these years of us, together, be nothing? Explain that to me?" I'm hurt, I'm angry, and it comes out in my tone. A tear escapes my eye, and I didn't even know it was welling up there. You notice, and you look crushed. I quickly wipe it away, but another one follows.

"Sara, I…" You hate to see me cry, I know you do. "That wasn't meant to hurt you. All I mean is that…" You can't get the words out, but I know you have something big, huge, to say. "I mean that if we do…this, whatever that means, and you change your mind?"

"I'm not going to." I nearly cut you off, because I can't believe what you're saying. "Would I push this hard, wait this long if I intended on just dumping you by the curb, Grissom?" I'm nearly bawling now, and it's eating at you. I know this, because you grab me and pull me into your warm body, hard, and you hold me there for what seems like a blissful eternity, and somehow we're in your car, and we're driving. I don't think either one of us knows where we're going.

The look in your eye is vicious, you hate yourself for hurting me, for making me cry, but also for realizing that you've hurt me for years. And I see lust, both in that look, and in the small bulge I notice in your pants. My body responds, I know what we're doing. My heart is beating, fast, and I don't want it to stop.

The car stops, even if my rapid heartbeat doesn't, and there's no one around. I don't know where we are, neither do you, but you get out of the car and I sit, completely still, until you walk over to my side of the car, open my door, and assault me, completely willingly, with an intense, hard kiss.

Your hands cup my cheeks, pulling my face into yours. Our mouths are tangled, our tongues relentless. You taste the way you smell, so completely Grissom, and you can't stop your body from getting as close to me as possible.

"Can I do this, Sara? Is this okay? Because the minute you allow me, I'll…" I nod viciously, I know what you mean. You're not rough, but you're impassioned. I crawl into the back seat, and you follow. Our positions are awkward, but I couldn't care less. You're groaning some primal, incoherent sound, and I respond the minute you pull my blouse over my head and unclasp my bra, and latch on to my hard, taut nipple with your rough tongue. You look at me, the same way you always have, only this time I know you want me.

Your hand reaches down to my crotch, and you cup me through the denim I'm wearing. You know where to rub, you find my clit, and your thumb massages it, hard, while our lips clash and I make sounds I don't recognize.

You pull my pants down and off my legs, I know they're stained, like my simply cotton underwear, from how aroused you've made me. Your hand returns to its work, you massage the same spot you were tending to when my pants were on, and I think I might come just from that touch alone. Your warm fingers, prodding at me, sending electricity through my whole body, make me nearly forget where I am. This feels like a dream.

You whisper something in my ear, I'm glad I understand you, but I don't need any extra stimulation. "I want to make you come, Sara. I want to see you climax, and I want to be the one to do it." Your words make me gasp, your tone isn't gentle, but it's lustful, not rough. I want nothing more than for you to make me come, to feel you inside of me, and you must know this because you shed your clothes, and I shed mine, and you give me a small kiss on the nose before you enter me.

You're big, you feel amazing, and you have one hand between us, massaging my clit like you were before. I cling to you, pushing my fingernails into your back. Your head is in the crevice of my neck, and our sweaty bodies make slapping noises against each other, complemented only by my incoherent moans, and you chanting my name. I'm close, so close to the edge, but it's not until you suck on the flesh of my neck that I finally feel the waves of pleasure swim through every nerve of my body. I try to moan your name, but I can't, my vocal cords seem to have frozen.

I feel you release into me, you grunt and prolong my own orgasm. Finally the spasms stop and, still inside me, you collapse completely on top of me. I don't mind the weight. I'm panting, breathing heavily. I'm dazed, I can't remember what moments of the day lead to me laying here, sweaty and panting from climax, you lying on top of me. You, Grissom, the man I've loved since I first saw you, the man I've always know I wouldn't be able to substitute, to live without.

You angle your lips towards my ear, I guess you're going to kiss me gently, and I anticipate the wonderful feeling. Instead you whisper, and my heart skips a beat.

"I love you," You say, and I can't believe my ears, but I know I'm here. This isn't just a dream, because I've waited so long and I refuse to think otherwise.

I sigh, contented. I don't say it back, I don't need to. You know already.


End file.
